


alis nostri | our wings | Soara Academy Spinoff

by AlexandraMariaAnna



Category: A Budgie's Life, Soara Academy
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Hello Muffin, Hope you like Wildlife Academy!, It's a sin that no one is writing for that universum really, Multi, and like seventy of my bird kids, but now i have an world to insert them in, i made up an entire part of the world, i've had an idea for bird gjinkas for a while now, if you are reading this i love you, thank you for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:16:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna
Summary: A promise formed between the broken and abandoned, under the moon's light that seeped through the stained glass.The dream that refuses to disappear.The rivalry that was forged in the air.Welcome to the Muraya Institute of Wildlife Protection and Research.---Soara Academy SpinoffSoara Academy belongs to Muffin Girl on Webtoon!





	1. Chapter 1

‘’Slava. My hands hurt.”  
‘’I know. Just an hour left, hang in there, buddy.”

Sound of sewing machines filled the small room. A row of children sat by the ever-whirring machinery, weaving together sheets of various materials, turning them from scraps to fashionable clothes. At the very end of the row, by the large wooden door, sat two girls, both engrossed in their work. The taller one was currently working on what seemed like a blouse, blue and purple weaving together under the weak light of the lamps. The shorter one was struggling to sew together a skirt – something that was considered the most basic piece of clothing in the Peacock’s Grace Orphanage. She paused regularly to blow on her fingers, having cut them once again on the sharp needles.  
  
“Come on, you gotta turn this around now.” Slava looked around to make sure the supervisors were not staring straight at them and reached over her small friend, folding the material twice and positioning it under the needle again. Anya nodded her head in appreciation, pressing the pedal underneath the table to make the sewing machine come back to life. Slava sighed and rubbed her eyes. What hour was it? When she told Anya that there was just an hour left of work that day, she was most definitely bluffing to make her feel better. She groaned and lowered the lamp over her table as low as possible, before moving on to the more delicate patterns in the blouse.

Unbeknownst to the children’s knowledge, it was already long past midnight. In any normal house, kids would be laying in their comfortable beds, dreaming of high flights and tasty millets.  
Peacock’s Grace Orphanage wasn’t a normal house, however. It was a place for, lightly said, rejects.

Kids abandoned by their caretakers. Cripples. Genetically mutated kids of odd hair and eye colors. Flightless birds that couldn’t bring their respective family’s pride and profit. And lastly, ones that the family couldn’t afford to keep.

A sharp whistle cut the silence of the production hall, as all of the kids almost simultaneously breathed out and stood up from their respective tables, quickly folding today’s creations and putting them into plastic containers. Slava put lit onto hers, containing 6 shirts, one barely unfinished, but she was sure the supervisor would let her finish it next weekend. Glancing to the side, her face fell as she observed Anya fold one single skirt neatly, setting it down in a container that now looked gigantic in comparison to the single piece of clothing that was placed in it.

Slava sighed, not even remembering how many times she did so today, and lifted one of the completed shirts, setting it down in Anya’s container instead. Coffee-colored hair raised slightly in surprise as Anya’s head turned to the side, staring her friend down with questioning eyes. Slava just put a finger up to her mouth, smiling softly.

“Gather up, everyone!” the loud, obnoxious voice of the senior supervisor snapped out, waving his hand from his post by the door. Anya swallowed nervously, her hands clenching the handles of the container tightly.  
“Do you think I’ll get at least 5 today?” she asked meekly, joining the line that formed in front of the door. Slava hummed, the container resting on her hip like a basket of fresh laundry. She calculated carefully in her head – two pieces of clothing, one of hard design and high quality, other of easy design and low quality should easily amass to at least 5, if not 10 coins. She nodded her head with a smile on her face, and Anya’s visage brightened, excited about the payout.

“Next!” the supervisor barked, motioning for Anya to step forward. The small girl handed over her basket, and a business-dressed woman, took it from her hands, removing the lid and examining the contents briskly. “One shirt and one skirt. High and low quality.” She said out loud, her eyebrow raised. Anya looked down at her feet, unable to meet the woman’s eyes. “Got lazy at the end, eh?”  
“My hands hurt.” Anya partially lied, kicking a stray piece of trash that was under her shoe.  
“Well, they better stop hurting soon.” The woman laughed and turned to the senior supervisor. “Give her 5. Next!” she called out, and Slava repeated her friends’ motion, handing the woman her basket, and awaiting judgment.

‘’5 high-quality pieces, one unfinished. Will you be finishing it next shift?” she asked, raising up the delicate blouse to inspect it. Slava only nodded, deciding to stay obedient rather than acting smug. The woman hummed, and closed the box again, passing it to one of the workers. “18 for Kosov. If you finish it next shift, you’ll get a bonus to your payout. Keep up the good work.”

Anya was waiting for her behind the doors, clutching the five silver coins to her chest like they were the treasures of Babylon. Slava slid ten coins into her pocket, leaving out only eight.

“Slava! Thank you so much for today!” Anya laughed, showing her the coins (even though Slava was right behind her as she received the money from the sweaty man in a much too small t-shirt) that she clutched in her hand. “I can buy that blue material now!” she smiled, and warmth spread through Slava’s chest as she listened to her best friend rant on and on about the ribbon that she was going to cut from it and put in her hair next time they are allowed to go into town. “How much did you get today?”

“Oh, um, just eight.” Slava threw the coins up and caught them again, and they jingled like the bells on the Christmas tree that was always put up in the community room. Anya frowned.  
“They always underpay you! You should be getting, like fifty or so!” She made a vague motion with her hands, and Slava just laughed, walking off towards the exit of the production hall. “Hey, are you even listening to me? Slava!”

“I am, I am~ I just really want to lay down today, you know…” she sighed. She wasn’t lying – working from seven to seven (actually to way past midnight, but what the eyes don’t see, the body doesn’t feel) was tiring for a ten-year-old child. However, it was the only way for the kids of the Peacock’s Grace Orphanage to have any spending money, and to pay back their living expenses to the owners of the orphanage. Studying Monday to Friday, working on Saturdays and Sundays – the moment you reached 5 years of age you were forced to obey this schedule – and you obeyed, because what else were you supposed to do?

A group of sleepy, tired kids, clutching the small change in their equally small hands burst through the main doors of the building they lived in, the race to the bathrooms beginning. Some of them glanced at the clock, surprised at the late hour, some walked straight to the bedrooms, deciding to put away their payment before taking a bath (or not), and some just rushed towards the kitchen, hoping to snatch a late-night snack before Mama or Papa make it back downstairs from their office, where they  walked right after leaving the factory.

Slava considered herself a part of the second group, and as Anya sprinted south, towards the kitchen, Slava walked up to the grand stairs, towards the ten-year-olds sleeping quarters. She was so tired – her body heavy and joints locked in place from sitting down for so long. It was hard to walk up the stairs, and the idea that she had to climb two floors filled her with despair. She didn’t let it show to her friend, but it was hard to move her fingers, and she stopped counting how many times she bled while trying to finish today’s workload efficiently but fast. Slava grits her teeth and popped one of her bruised fingers into her mouth. She had to endure. This was all that she had.

Two kids brushed by her on the stairs as they probably made the late decision to join the kitchen battalion, and she shouted after them to not run down the stairs while wearing socks, before continuing on her Sisyphean climb. The clock downstairs chimed quarter past midnight when she opened the squeaky door to the messy sleeping quarters. Some kids were already there – Slava spotted a pair of twin budgies that you could never break apart hastily hiding a handmade box under their bed, probably containing money. The only blackbird of the orphanage was brushing his hair with the soft brush he bought just last week with his savings. The finch and swallow were still missing. And then there was, of course, Anya, who, as it was widely known, was at that very moment pillaging the kitchen.

Slava sat down on her bed, her legs screaming in relief as she raised them up on the soft surface. She closed her eyes, praying not to fall asleep before her friend comes back, but it was just so hard to resist the temptation of sleep, that she felt herself slipping in and out of restless slumber.  


‘’Slava come on wake up! We need to deposit the coins!”

Ah, It’s over.

“Sure, sure, I’m awake.” She lifted herself back up, her body screaming in silent refusal. “Can you get the box, Anya?”  
“I already got it.” Anya dropped a padded shoebox into Slava’s lap, the contents letting out a jingle. Slava winced as the corner of the box dug into her underbelly, but she smiled through it, opting to instead open the box and throw her eight coins inside, Anya following suit with her five.

“There should be around… Three hundred fifty inside, huh?” Anya mused, poking the coins in the box. “That would make it 17,5 Talons… Almost enough for the book on bird anatomy, right?”  
Slava nodded, closing the box and pushing it under the bed.

“When we’ll be able to buy it, we can start studying for the entrance exams for Muraya Academy. And then, if we get the scholarship-“ Slava smiled, looking at her best friend straight in her coal black eyes. “-we’re getting out of here.”  
“For good?”  
“For good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not all children are blessed.

_Slava dreamt. She dreamt of high treetops, fast, the icy wind of the mountains. She dreamt of spreading her coal black wings and zooming between the trees, mountain tops, tall towers. She dreamt of cheers that the onlookers chanted as they watched her, waving their hands as they passed by them at the speed of sound. She dreamt of the feeling of gold between the teeth, and Anya’s smile as she hands her a towel, free of pain and suffering._  
 _And then she dreamt of wooden doors of the orphanage. She dreamt of them opening, and instead of feeling excitement over gaining a new sibling, feeling terror as she watches Anya walk back into the building, having only walked out of it a few months earlier._  
 _She dreamt of bandages – the sterile scent making her want to vomit. She dreamt of tears as she tore back the septic gauze that stuck to exposed flesh. She dreamt of burn marks, mismanaged and not treated, ones that would without a doubt scar the porcelain skin. She dreamt of money that she didn’t have, money that she probably never would be able to get._  
 _She dreamt of broken smiles and silent words of ‘don’t be mad’ and ‘I’m gonna be okay’ being spoken in the middle of the night under the covers of a bed by the stain glass window. And then it was silent. And Slava wondered if the choices she made were the correct ones. The secret stash of money hidden in the orphanage mattress, the unmentioned calls, the empty promises – was it all worth it?_  
***  
“I’m so sorry Anya. This is completely my fault.” Slava choked out through the tears as she crumbled the paper that she just took out of the crisp white envelope. The red ink peeked at her, taunting and bold, and she wanted to vomit, feeling the stares of everyone in the room on her face. She crumbled it into a ball and threw it out of the window. “If I only worked harder!”

Anya wondered if it was okay to break down, to look vulnerable in front of her friend. It wouldn’t be the first time that she cried in front of Slava, and damn, definitely not the last, taking into the consideration that she was an incredible crybaby that was moved to tears by anything, however if just felt, well, wrong, to seem weak while the other was in such a state. She sighed. Anya knew that a thirteen-year-old girl shouldn’t be dealing with such heavy baggage.  
“Slava, you have to understand that this isn’t your fault.” She exhaled shakily, sitting down next to her black-haired friend who began sprouting feathers from stress. “I had a feeling nothing can be done about this ever since I came back to the orphanage.” 

The light in the room was warm – bathing the hospital-like beds in colors, giving them character and at least a bit of warmth that couldn’t be found anywhere in these cold walls. Anya closed her eyes and took in the last rays of the autumn sun, soon to be gone just to be replaced by hurricanes and snowstorms, ones so often occurring in this region of the country.

“Anya, you’re always too soft on me.” Slava broke the silence, rubbing her eyes furiously. “If I worked twice as hard, I could have gathered the money for the treatment faster, and you wouldn’t be-“ she choked up, the words stuck in her throat like a death curse that would instantly kill when spoken. The kids that were in the room just a moment ago slipped silently out of it, Anya noticed, as she, without skipping a beat, finished the sentence Slava began.

“Flightless. I wouldn’t be flightless.”

Slava flinched, bile rising to her throat at only the thought of a bird – God’s creation that was made to rule the sky and watch from above- being chained to the ground, unable to take a form or take off. It filled her both with pity and disgust.   
Pity at the eyes of the bird that will never see the world from above. Disgust at the hands who plucked her wings and sold the beautiful multicolored feathers for big money, sending the broken, wounded child back to the hell they took her away from. To give one hope and to crush it – it was, without a doubt, the biggest sin a caretaker could commit.

“Slava, we have to face it, okay?” Anya muttered, not daring to open her eyes yet and face the swollen, crying face of Slava, who always seemed to be the mature older sister to her. “I’m not able to produce feathers. I will never fly again.” She fell back, hitting the soft mattress. “But I’m alive. I can live without flying. Not every bird can fly in this world. Emus and penguins spend their entire life on the ground and they are happy with what they are.”   
“But you’re not a penguin nor an emu! You were born a Eurasian Tit! You were meant to fly, and soar, and race me between mountains, and-“ Slava was silenced by a shaky, calloused finger placed on her equally shaky lips.  
“Calm down. It’s not your fault.”  
And just like that, Slava broke down completely.

***

“Listen, kid. We’re not gonna treat you any different than the other bids, slip or no slip. We got three penguins on the second floor, and they are doing twice the workload recently. Got good results too. This is what I expect of you also, capiche?”   
“Of course sir.” Anya bowed towards her superior, the chubby woman twirling the frayed end of a ribbon that kept her thick gray hair together. Anya swore that she could hear ‘damn crippled brats’ as she was walking away, and she felt a sting of hot tears in her eyes. Why? Before she left the orphanage, she was at least treated with the respect of a human being, but now that everyone knows that she’s flightless, they just seem so – how to say it – cold? Her fellow flightless birds looked at her suspiciously, and understandably so. How could a girl that flew just fine for the last thirteen years suddenly become chained to the earth, especially with a friend like Slava Kosov, the fastest flier in the orphanage?   
I

t wasn’t anything weird, Anya thought bitterly as she sat down to the sewing machine, one that she thought she would never see again. It was just the cruelty of people that made her into what she was now. 

When Anya first saw her new adoptive mother, or “owner” as the Headmistress called her, she was In bliss. A tall, red-haired woman (perhaps a parrot or a finch?) waved at her gently, her makeup well done, her nails painted to perfection, and that familial warmth in her black eyes – one that she grew to crave over the years spent alone in the bed under the stained glass window. Her name was Lena, and she was looking for a daughter for the longest time. Apparently, she saw Anya on one of the photographs taken during a public outing and instantly knew that it was the one she was looking for.

Lena asked Anya many things on that Tuesday afternoon – her favorite colors, favorite books, dreams, hopes, friends. And so Anya babbled on, about the color pink, Mister Tadeusz, about wanting to enroll in Muraya, about her hopes of being a clothes designer in the future, and about Slava, her best friend. Lena nodded at everything, the cutesy smile never leaving her peachy lips, and Anya felt warmth bubble inside her chest. That was her chance to leave the orphanage and start anew. The only thing that held her back at that moment was Slava, who would be left alone at the orphanage, and although Anya was sure that she could fend for herself, perhaps even better than now, she would still be parting with someone she considered a sister.

Surprisingly, Slava was ecstatic at the idea of Anya being adopted and seemed even more excited than Anya herself. She helped her pack up, chose her clothes for the day that she was supposed to leave, hell, even sewed her a cute baby blue sailor-like dress for her to impress her future family with. Anya was extremely grateful.   
And just like that, came the day she would leave the orphanage. Slava woke her up early that day, holding a soft brush and ribbons that she obtained from god knows where in her hands. She then proceeded to brush her long, blue and yellow hair, all while chattering on and on about the good life she will now lead. Slava braided her hair, gave her a loving hug, and, all while swallowing tears of both joy and sadness, gave her a parting gift of a scarf knitted under the moonlight with salvaged white wool.  
And just like that, with shouts of “write soon!” and “remember that I love you!”, the car door shut, and Anya was whisked into her new life.

It was almost as if she was a princess in a marble castle – the family manor was huge, with many a servant running around, be that tending to the lawn or preparing for late supper. She was welcomed with a bow (which she shamefully returned, just to hear a laugh from her caretaker), and guided to her room, decorated with pastel pinks, shelves lined with classical novels, materials for the study of both bird anatomy and fashion. She felt like she stepped in a dream. 

She met her “father” the same day. A stern man surrounded by an equally stern following passed her by in the hallway, his eyes softening momentarily when he spotted her following him with her eyes. “His name is Anton.” She was told by one of the servants that carried her small trunk into the house. “He doesn’t speak much, but he’s a good man. Good employer too.”

Anya had to agree with these claims, and as she buried her head into the mountain of cream colored pillows, she already formulated the letter she would send to Slava the very next day. The linens smelled of peaches and vanilla. She smiled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She needed to ask Lena – no, she needed to ask Mom if she could invite Slava over, even for a short while. 

When she woke up the next day at six, she was confused to why everyone was still asleep. She tiptoed across the corridors in her new sleeping gown, listening in for any noise or movement. When she finally spotted a maid carrying a basket of fresh millet bread and other delicacies, the lady looked genuinely surprised to see the small girl awake. “Sir Anton and Lady Lena specifically asked us not to wake them up before eight.” She explained, taking one of the loaves of bread from the basket and handing it to the bewildered child. “Why would they sleep so long? Don’t they have jobs to do?” Anya asked, smelling the baked good, her mouth watering the moment the godly scent hit her nose.

The maid sighed wistfully and adjusted the basket on her hip. “It’s rich folks’ privilege to work when they want to, you know kid?” Almost as if she caught herself saying that, she paled and looked at Anya intensely. “Please don’t tell them I said that.”   
Anya just nodded, and with a wink, the maid was off, most likely heading towards the kitchen. Left alone in the hallway, the small girl had nothing better to do than to wander, and admire her new home. The hallways were wide, fitted with a soft red carpet that contrasted the creamy walls. The walls were decorated with intricate paintings, some depicting places she’s never been to before, some showing still life, and some were portraits – and these intrigued Anya the most. 

It wasn’t hard to spot which one was depicting Lena’s and Anton’s families – they had similar facial features and eye color (and of course, the unmistakable sour expression ever so present on Anton’s side of the family). It was the smaller, less intricate portraits that drew Anya’s attention the most. She counted at least eleven paintings of boys and girls of different ages, skin colors and hair colors, all smiling at the artist, their hair neatly brushed and clothes pressed. If there was one thing that connected them, however, it was that they were incredibly beautiful. Multichromatic hair, golden eyes, porcelain skin – Anya couldn’t help but stop and admire the ethereal beauty they were radiating. 

“Do you like them?” She suddenly heard a low, grizzly voice behind her, and she jumped, spinning around so fast that some of her feathers poked through her skin. The voice belonged to her new “father”, who, leaning against a nearby doorway, seemed to have been observing her for a while now. As he stood there, large and imposing, Anya once again became breathless as she admired his features. He was definitely an avian – the feather placed in his lapel pocket pointing to him being either a hawk or an eagle. He was almost abnormally tall and lanky, and yet, he seemed strong. Strong enough to snap her neck if she said something wrong. His black eyes didn’t help to ease his image either. Anya just nodded her head, feeling cold sweat trickle down her back. 

The man chuckled, seemingly content with her answer. He relaxed his posture, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. “I’m glad,” he said, stepping closer to the row of paintings she was just looking at. “Though I’d love some more advanced critique. I’m the one who painted them after all.”  
Anya’s eyes widened at that statement. “Really?” she asked, her voice small and meek, almost lost in the background noise. Anton pointed at the painting of a girl with floor length rainbow hair. “Look here.”

The girl walked to his side and stood on her tiptoes to glance closer at the picture. She heard a sigh coming from the man, and within seconds she was hoisted into the air and onto the man’s shoulder. Anya was almost shell-shocked – for a second, she thought he would throw her, or push her back, but instead, he held her gently so she wouldn’t fall as he pointed to the upper right corner of the painting.   
Anya squinted her eyes, and sure enough, calligraphed neatly with white paint were her father’s initials: “A.M”.   
“Wow.” She let out shakily, finally connecting the man to the picture. The same man laughed heartily as he heard her exclaim that, and twirled her around before setting her back on the soft carpet.   
“I’m gonna paint one of you too soon okay?” he asked, squatting down so he would be at her eye level. Anya’s face brightened, just to darken again.   
“Am I pretty enough to be painted?” she asked, twirling a greenish bit of her hair around her pointing finger. Anton sighed and said:  
“Of course you are.” He pointed at one of the few feathers she sprouted when he spooked her earlier. “Your feathers are shiny and colorful. Your eyes have a gorgeous color. And you are very cute too!” Anya blushed fiercely as she heard what probably was the first compliment she received from a man. Anton ruffled her hair and extended a hand for her to grab. “Let’s get some breakfast, shall we? Your mother is waiting in the main room for us.”

Anya smiled widely, her cheeks still red. She grasped the rough, calloused hand of her adoptive father, and held on for dear life as he led her down the hall.   
_“Slava!”_ she thought, spotting her mother on the stairway. _“I’m so thankful to be here!”_

***

“I’m not taking these.” The same lady that verbally abused her on the way in now threw the three completed skirts back into Anya’s arms. “One of them is stained, and the sewing job is crooked in the others.” She huffed and waved her swollen hand, motioning her to move along. Anya grit her teeth and tightened her grip on the garments.   
“The material I received was stained! And In any way you look at these, they aren’t crooked!” she snapped back. Her face muscles tightened so much that she felt her lips crack from the pressure, but she stared right into the woman’s eyes, not breaking contact. The aforementioned woman, however, grew beet red in anger, and for the first time ever, at least in Anya’s eyes, she stood up from her plastic chair.

“ _The cheek of this slag!_ ” She screeched, successfully gaining the attention of everyone in the production hall and on their way out. Anya felt droplets of sweat cover her forehead as the feeling of dread grew in the pit of her stomach. She shouldn’t have said that. She definitely shouldn’t have said that. “Spends a few weeks with rich folks and suddenly she has the nerve to mouth off!” The woman was close to bursting, and Anya nearly considered pinching her with one of the pins she still had attached to her sleeve, but she inhaled and exhaled slowly instead. Clutching the clothes in her hands, Anya walked to the back of the line, ignoring the angry yells and curses that were being thrown in her direction. 

“Are you okay?” Slava asked as Anya stopped next to her, throwing the two skirts into Slava’s nearly full basket. “What did you say to her to make her explode like that?”   
“The truth. I think she still hates me.” Anya groaned as she massaged her bruised hands. “I’ll meet you at the house okay? I think I need to scream into a pillow for a while.” And just like that, with an addiction of a spiteful glare as she passed the, still fuming, woman who was now looking closely at a pair of blue slippers, she was off.   
No one spared her even a glance as she stomped up the stairs, threw open the doors to the shared bedroom and threw herself on the bed. The hospital-like scent of chemicals used to clean the rough to touch sheets hit her nose like a tsunami, and she gagged silently, remains of the simple dinner rising up back to her throat. Compared to the scent of the sheets back at home, this was just repulsive. 

“Home?” she mumbled to herself as she buried her face even deeper into the pillow. “Funny.” She breathed out, her eyebrows scrunching in anger. There were many emotions Anya was feeling at that very moment, but the ones that stuck out the most were the feeling of betrayal, sadness, and blinding anger. How many times has she cried since she arrived back at the orphanage? She stopped counting, having only irritated red skin around her eyes as proof of her actually suffering.   
Her father – no, Anton was a gentle human. She remembered standing by a vase filled with white lilies and yellow roses, smiling sweetly at him, as he worked slowly and meticulously on the canvas in front of him. She remembered the feeling of silk against her skin as she breathed in the sweet scent of the perfumed dress that she was handed by Lena the previous night. He was laughing as he first sketched her silhouette on a piece of paper, humming under his nose as he worked on tiny elements of her earrings and the hairpins adorning her hair. He was an amazing person, Anya thought back then, looking at his large hands moving up and down as he primed the canvas. An artist, entrepreneur and a kind man overall – Anya couldn’t have wished for a better father figure. 

Lena loved dressing her up. Shopping trips were nearly a daily occurrence between them. Each time, Anya returned with at least a handful of garments: from hats, through stockings to full-blown gowns, there was nothing she could complain about. Lena loved to talk too – often when in the car, she would go on and on about her job as a journalist, about the cutest dress she saw in a magazine or about the flower arrangement that she was thinking on putting together for the next banquet that her husband’s corporation would hold. Anya would find herself lost in her voice, listening to colorful stories about things she never got to experience by herself as a child, and asking for more details when she was especially interested in the subject. Lena would always laugh, and Anya loved it. Her laughter sounded like a dozen bells chiming together in celebration of her happiness. 

The same sound now reminded her of shattering glass.  
“Yo, Anya.”   
The mattress moved as someone sat down rather forcefully. Anya knew it was Slava, and she made no attempt to even react as Slava did her best to make herself comfortable on the old mattress. An incomprehensible murmur was the only thing that reached Slava’s ears and she sighed, knowing there’s no pulling her out of that zoned out state any time soon.  
“Old Hag Mousey Hair gave you eight for the skirts.”  
“Put it in the box.”  
“You sure?”  
“Yea.”

A jingle. A lid closing. A box being pushed along the wooden floor. Another jingle.   
“Anya.” Slava spoke slowly, the name of her friend leaving her lips with a sigh. “They gave you the kitchen shift tomorrow morning. And the day after that you have dinner shift.”   
Anya huffed and attempted to bury her face even deeper into the pillow. To be completely honest, if she pushed her petite face any further, the flimsy bed frame would probably break. “Who told you that?” she asked, counting down seconds until she suffocated or at least lost consciousness.   
“Mama Manna.”   
“Damn it.”

“You’d never say a curse word before. I might just start to respect you.” Slava laughed sadly as she flopped back on the bed, nearly crushing Anya with her weight. That finally caused the sandwiched girl to pop her (now red) face over the pillow to gasp for air. Slava just made herself more comfortable.  
“Did you ever notice that returned kids get more jobs that the ones who never got claimed?” Anya muttered; her chin now supported with her bruised hands. Slava hummed.   
“Now that you say that – kind of yeah. Back when Mateo got sent back, he got bathroom duty every day for like, what, a month? And Carrie-“  
“Carrie actually got sick from working outside. I remember.”

The silence of the room began to dissipate as kids began running back into the room with their earnings. Laughs and jokes filled the hospital like orphanage as some of them took a dive for their beds, and some just flopping down on the ground and giggling uncontrollably as they watched their friends jump in fright as they got suddenly grabbed by their ankles. Slava lowered her voice.  
“If you need any help, you will tell me yeah?” 

Anya didn’t answer. She didn’t want to put Slava in trouble. It wasn’t her fault that she had a bigger workload now. Slava was someone who was her friend ever since Mama Manna brought her by the hand into the last room on the left, the one with the large stained-glass window, and just one girl inside. She had an empty look in her eyes and was shaved nearly bald, with just a little bit of black fuzz remaining where her hair once was. Their eyes met back then – gold ones stared at the black ones questioningly.   
“Say hello to your roommate, Slava.” Mama Manna said, and Slava only nodded weakly. Anya, on the other hand, smiled widely and let go of Manna to run up to her new friend.

“I can manage.” She finally answered bitterly, much to Slava’s dismay. She didn’t believe her for a moment, but, well, what was she to do in that case? She knew full well that if she pushed too hard Anya would just stop responding after a while.   
“Just know that I’m here if you need me okay?” she muttered as she hopped off the bed, her backside thanking her wordlessly. Anya just grunted.   
“Everyone to your beds. It’s lights out.” A middle-aged woman with golden hair popped her head into the doorway, and a choir of children answered her with either disappointed grunts or cheerful hellos and okay’s. Soon the room was bathed in violets and blues coming from the stained-glass window.   
Anya’s mind was filled with anything but soft colors, however.

As she closed her eyes, all she saw were bright lights and the color red.


End file.
